Requiem
by Faricu
Summary: A short story set shortly after the use of the Legacy Weapon at the end of the Invasion Story arc.


_Please note that I don't own the characters or locations used in this. They are the property of Wizards of the Coast._

**Requiem**

"_Don't mourn for me. This is my destiny."_

With those words, Gerrard was gone. A pillar of light – the tangible hope of all on Dominaria – tore through the skies. It lasted a second; took just a heartbeat to split the heavens and vanquish the Phyrexians. Took just a breath to save the world.

They rejoiced at that; Minotaurs from Hurloon, Elves from mystical Yavimaya. Even the creatures of the swamps of Urborg. But not the crew of the _Weatherlight_. How could they celebrate? How could they possibly feel even the faintest glimmer of cheer when their worlds had been torn asunder?

Gerrard was gone.

Forever.

"No."

Orim's voice, but shaky, on the verge of breaking. Her energy, her bubbly personality was gone; stolen away by the ravages of war. She'd lost so much; family, friends. She'd surrendered her chance for love with Cho-Manno to continue to help her friends. She'd seen Hanna wither away, the last victim of the plague. And now she'd seen Gerrard vanish in an instant, sacrificed to save the lives of a million others.

How could she _possibly_ be happy? She didn't know, couldn't think. All she could do was sink to her knees as sobs wracked her body and tears traced patterns across her cheeks.

"_Don't mourn for me."_

Words, such pointless, hopeless words, but they kept ringing through her head. She wished she could silence them, yet vehemently held them to herself; they were all she had left of Gerrard and she wouldn't abandon them.

"_It was my destiny."_

She blinked, still shaking. That hadn't been her memory, hadn't been what Gerrard had said. It was almost like...

"_Don't cry, Orim, it doesn't suit you."_

There was a pressure on her shoulder, now; the faintest suggestion of a gentle hand reassuring her. She couldn't look up, though. There was too much chance that doing so would simply dispel the illusion, that she'd see the truth. And it had to be the truth; this couldn't be happening. Gerrard was gone.

"Why?"

A whisper, cracked and broken escaped her lips. She didn't expect an answer, but she had to ask and prayed an answer would come. That this was real, that Gerrard stood before her.

"_They had to be stopped. This what I was born for..."_

A pause, a silence. A heartbeat of contemplation, then a sigh. The gentle caress of the wind touched Orim's cheek and she sensed a movement.

"_No, that's not the truth; You know I always believed in forging my own destiny."_

She nodded, remembering all those times when Gerrard had spoken out against Urza's plans and schemes. He'd never believed them, never trusted the half-crazed Planeswalker. None of them had, really, but he'd seemed their only chance for defeating the dark specter of Yawgmoth. Still, if Gerrard hadn't believed...

"Why, then?"

She knew she was just repeating the same question over and over, but she didn't care. She wanted an answer, wanted to know why Gerrard had really abandoned them. Surely they could have found another way.

"_There was someone..."_

"_There was me."_

A new voice joined Gerrard's, another hand joined his on Orim's shoulder and now the young cleric found her head jerking up. Straining to see through the tears, only blurs appeared before her. But she didn't need eyes; she knew the voice, the gentle tone.

"Hanna...?"

"_I'm here."_

Hanna... Orim remembered how she'd been at the end; fighting against the plague's madness even as death's dark shroud enveloped her. She'd imagined it must have been a relief in the end, but that hadn't helped Gerrard, hadn't stopped the grief that consumed the brave Benalian.

"You went to join Hanna, Gerrard...?"

No answer. It wasn't needed anyway; Orim already knew that he had, that Gerrard had given up the life of a hero to wander the lands of the dead with his beloved Hanna. The thought was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes, but she blinked them away even as she willed her vision to clear.

"_It's time for us to leave, my love."_

The words were Hanna's, but Gerrard's response was lost beneath Orim's protests.

"No! Please, don't leave me again. I need you... I need both of you."

"_You don't need us, Orim."_

Gerrard's gentle voice sought only to console her, but it succeeded only in drawing fresh tears from Orim's eyes.

"_We'll always be with you, Orim."_

His voice seemed faint as he added those words and Orim frantically blinked away her tears, praying to whichever God might be listening that it was just a trick of sound, that he wasn't truly leaving again. But by the time she could see, nothing beyond the faintest hint of a pair of silhouettes remained, though the ghost of a whisper hung heavy in the air.

_"You'll never be alone."_

Somehow, as Orim turned away from the rail and trudged wearily toward the Weatherlight's cabin, things didn't seem quite as bad as they had before.


End file.
